


A Thousand Leagues

by ChristinaS412



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jon Snow - Freeform, and his way back to the wall, gendry finds faith, idk wtf this is, lord beric, lots of mentions, ser davos - Freeform, thoros - Freeform, tormund - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaS412/pseuds/ChristinaS412
Summary: There were only three things Gendry was certain of: The Wights were coming, Jon needed him, and the Wall was a thousand leagues away. A thousand leagues of Gendry's inner dialogue from S7x6.





	A Thousand Leagues

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a mood and wanted to give a little backstory to the other fic I recently published. This is just a stand-alone narrative of what Gendry was thinking about during that long ass haul to the Wall lol

He was running. Long legs pushing him further and further away from the valley and the army of the dead. _Faster_ , he willed himself. Feet, snow, ground, _further_. Jon had commanded him to send a raven for Daenerys. Every breath stung, his throat was raw from huffing, and eyes puffy from watering against the snowfall.

 _Come on_ , he yelled at himself as the crest of another mountain range appeared before him. _How many had he already passed?,_ Gendry wondered before banishing the thought. The landscape was a white and barren wasteland dotted with peaks and slashes of gnarled rock underfoot. He was too stubborn to think about whether or not he recognized anything. Even if he was running the wrong way he couldn’t stop. They needed him. They were _counting_ on him. To bring back the wight. The thought fueled his pace, calves aching as he pushed himself further.

The sight of death snarling in his face earlier had been enough for him to know he never wanted to see the army of the dead again. He wished he still had his war hammer. But the wildling had been right, it would’ve only served to slow him down.

How far had they walked from the safe confines of the wall? A thousand leagues? Two thousand? It seemed unending. And for a time his mind reeled until it calmed and his consciousness faded into silence. One foot in front of the other. It wasn’t so much a thought as it was a reminder. Each step echoed with the crunch of snow and steady exhale. Stopping would mean certain death, for him and the other men. He wouldn’t stop, just like he hadn’t stopped rowing. For a moment a bubble of laughter threatened to erupt, but it left his lips in a sigh as he reached the peak.

One misstep and he would go barreling down the other side. Carefully he maintained his pace, ignoring the soreness in his legs. He had given up on thinking about his feet before dusk had begun to settle. Now all he could feel was the impact of his weight on his knees, and the stabs of pain emanating from his sides.

 _Please_ , he begged, _let me survive this_. Who he was begging to, the blacksmith wasn’t sure. The Lord of Light was no friend of his, and neither were The Seven the southron Lords seemed keen on following. He remembered Arya telling him something about the Old Gods. Her Gods. They ruled the North with their weirwoods and children of the forest. In truth he hadn’t thought about Arya much since the red witch bought him for her blood magic. Arya was probably dead anyway, he reasoned as his feet carried him onward. Everyone that asked him questions ended up dead. He had meant to ask Thoros and Lord Beric about her, but the words never felt quite right on his tongue. What would they say anyway? They were nothing but outlaws, and she was worth a lot more gold than he had been.

The thought sent a bolt of rage through him, spurring his pace into a dead sprint. Gendry had liked her. Arya had always been good to him, even if she had a pain in his ass. She had held an fierce wildness in her grey eyes, and fearlessness that had saved him from death a few dozen times. Arya would’ve stayed with Jon. In all his life she was the only other person who was as stubborn as he was. 

His legs were giving out, stumbling. Then suddenly the ground was coming up to meet his bare face with a cold slap. Ears still ringing as his vision crossed a voice called out above the howling winds. Stupid bull, I could’ve been your family.

 _Stupid bull_ , She had always called him that once she thought he was out of hearing range. Chastising himself Gendry gathered his strength, pushing a frozen fist into the ground beneath him. Struggling to get back up the man groaned, _Don’t stop_ , he urged himself. Yet lying there on the ground, heart pounding so loudly it echoed through his skull, Gendry felt his eyes begin to close. He had to stop. His body couldn’t go anymore. He just needed to close his eyes for a minute. He needed some rest and then he would get back up again. The men needed him. Could the Old Gods hear him?

The earth rumbled in response. Rusted steel and ice gave way to the sounds of chains. And suddenly hands were on him, hauling him around to stare in the face of Ser Davos himself. The Gods, Arya’s Gods of the North, had heard him after all.  _Save them_ , Gendry wanted to say as Davos spoke. 

Cracked and frozen lips parted, voice raw from the cold. “Raven.” Inhaling deeply Gendry tried to focus on the firelight flaying violently from the torches above him in the wind. “We need to send a raven.”


End file.
